


The Bet (Or Draco is Really Bad at Plans)

by WitlessWriter7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Angst, Bets, Competition, Drama Queen Draco, Drarry, Harry in Lingerie, Harry in Panties, Humor, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Oblivious!Draco, dramatic!draco, maybe a bit of a crackfic, selfdeluded!draco, unsubtle sexual innuendo, wagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitlessWriter7/pseuds/WitlessWriter7
Summary: This is a fic inspired by an image by mzuul.Draco and Harry make a bet. Draco regrets winning the bet... until he doesn't.





	The Bet (Or Draco is Really Bad at Plans)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mzuul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mzuul/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When You Were Just Trying To Humiliate Your Rival](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/461588) by Mzuul. 



“Oy, Malfoy! Are you going to play or not?” Potter shouted across the eighth-year common room at the surly blond seated by the fire.

Malfoy looked up from his book and sneered, “I have more important things to do than play childish games of Quidditch.”

“Besides,” he scoffed, “McGonagall said we couldn’t be on house teams.”

“This isn’t official, we’re just putting together a friendly game and we need a seeker. What, are you scared to lose against me again? You think you’d be used to it by now,” Harry goaded. 

Draco’s high cheekbones flushed red and his fists clenched, crinkling the pages of his book. He wished they were wrapped around the brawny shoulders of the boy wonder so he could shake some sense into him. Who cared about Quidditch after what happened? It seemed so trivial now. But Malfoy couldn’t let Potter belittle him in front of everyone.

“Humph. You wish, Potter,” each syllable was enunciated with a biting staccato, as if Malfoy could stab Harry with just his words if he could get them sharp enough.

“Ha! I bet you don’t how to handle a broom anymore.” Potter chuckled, crossing the room to stand in front of Malfoy, and looked him up and down as if inspecting for visual indication of Draco’s abilities.

“I know how to handle a broom!” Draco wrenched out of his seat and threw his abused book on the ground, “Just watch me. I bet I catch the snitch before you!”

“So sure, huh?” Potter’s lip curled. It was nice Draco being the one riled up for once, “What do you bet?”

The crowd that slowly gathered around them, drawn by the familiar spectacle of Potter and Malfoy spatting, started hollering helpful (and not so helpful) suggestions.

“Loser has to streak the Great Hall during dinner!” shouted Seamus.

“Winner gets a blowjob from the loser!” suggested Blaise.

Harry and Draco both blanched like a dehydrated plant left too long in the sun.

Hermione interjected, “That’s disgusting! That’s not consensual!” 

Blaise just shrugged. “I bet they’d do it for free. They just need a little incentive. They’ve been dancing around it for ages,” he muttered under his breath. Pansy snickered.

“How about winner gets to dress the loser in whatever they want, and they have to let everyone see?” suggested Daphne in a blasé voice, inspecting her immaculate nails.

Considering the extremity of the other suggestions, that one was quickly agreed upon as the forfeit, seeming mild in comparison. Draco was already scheming of ways to make the seemingly innocuous task as humiliating as he could for Potter. He wasn’t even concerned if Potter won. The git probably didn’t even have enough imagination to make it interesting, he mused. 

“Alright Potter. I get Leann Moon, Su Li, Wayne Hopkins, Millicent Bulstrode, Greg and Lisa Turpin.” Draco drawled, sufficiently cowed by the horrifying forfeit suggestions.

“You can’t have Millicent, Draco. She already agreed to be beater on my team.” Potter announced, grinning smugly.

Draco turned to Millicent with a look of shocked betrayal, but she just grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“Fine,” he spat, “I’ll take Zacharias Smith as chaser, and Lisa Turpin can be beater.”

“Alright, I get Ron, Dean, Megan Jones, Morag McDougal, and Mandy Brocklehurst.”

“You’re on. I’m already picking out the cutest thing for you to wear,” Malfoy rebutted. Who cares if Potter got the best beater in their year? The rest of the players didn’t matter anyway. All he had to do was catch the snitch before Potter.

 

Draco gripped the rigid length of wood nestled between his clenched thighs. He gritted his teeth,  
emphasizing the already sharp angles of his face, as he flanked Harry—playing keeper to his goalpost. Harry made increasingly more disgruntled sounding noises as he tried and failed to get around him. The game raged below them, but they were more focused on spying the littlest, but most valuable ball.

“Give it up, Malfoy! Even if you spot it first, we both know I always get it,” teased Harry.  
Malfoy snorted, “There’s that famous Harry Potter humility.”

“Just stating facts,” Harry grinned at him. That arrogant sod! The savior of them all. The splendid seeker who spent all his skills saving snitches. Draco was quite proud of that last one. Although, his enjoyment was tempered by the veracity of the statement. Draco was now mature enough to admit his resentment of Potter’s winning streak, but most of all that he had saved Draco. They had never discussed it, but Draco knew, that Potter knew that Draco owed him his life. Not only was his pride stung by having to be saved like the proverbial damsel in distress his dear old dad had accused him of being, but that it was Potter who had done it. Potter, who was too good to be his friend. Potter, who was too famous and too heroic to associate with the son of a death eater. Who most of all didn’t even like him. Who had saved him not because he cared whether Draco lived or died, but because the right thing to do. To him, Draco was just another good deed to perform. And now Draco was under his power—and he hated it.

Since they had come back to Hogwarts, Potter was constantly around, reminding Draco of the power he held over him. He was always inviting Draco to do some activity or another with him—no doubt assessing how he could best drive Draco further into insanity by proving how good he was. So noble he would appear to be, deigning to forgive the death eater scum, all while taunting him with the debt Draco owed him. The threat of Harry Potter using his advantage always loomed like the shadow of some unknowable evil in the forefront of Draco’s mind—heavy with weight that a mere specter shouldn’t possess. To Draco, the bet wasn’t about some childish rivalry, but about having his own advantage over Potter. Slowly slithering out from under Harry Potter’s thumb, where he was currently figuratively crushed like the lowly pest he felt like. Proving that he was worthy. Where had that thought come from? Worthy of what? Potter’s regard? Worthy of being alive? Draco scoffed at himself. The obvious consensus, even from himself, was that he wasn’t.

Reminded of the stakes, he ignored Harry. High above the pitch he flew through the clouds that muggles only dreamed of touching. The mundane truth was that it was rather like being in fog, as fog was simply clouds curious enough about mortals to engulf their world while attempting to extract their secrets. And their secrets were only more obscured by the low-lying mists. One such obscured object came into view as Draco rounded a particularly dense cloudbank. Harry’s sight was still blockaded by a view that Draco considered to be quite picturesque: his own backside. He drifted closer to the flittering orb, hoping that his casual approach would disguise his true actions from the spectacled seeker. Wouldn’t that be grand? To just float on over and casually retrieve the snitch without breaking a sweat? The look on Potter’s face would be pensieve-worthy!

However, Draco wasn’t known for his luck and Harry surged forward. Draco couldn’t let Potter have anything else to humiliate him with. They were evenly matched, thighs pressed together as they raced to catch the snitch. Another moment with broomsticks and his thighs tight against Harry’s flashed through his mind and he wondered if Harry was remembering too.

Draco surged forward, dispelling the image of snarling fire creatures and the faint memory of the smell of smoke. “Make sure you take advantage of the view while you’re stuck behind me,” he crowed.  
He was almost there, and as his fingers wrapped around the flittering orb he was almost shocked at his own victory. He glanced behind him to glory in the disappointment sure to be on Potter’s face, but instead found a glazed look and flushed cheeks. The poor fool must be so befuddled by not winning that he lost all his wits, Draco thought to himself.

After the game, Draco strutted across the 8th year common room, and deposited a small package into Harry’s hand. His fingers grazed Harry’s warm skin and Draco wondered at his strange enjoyment of the intimate caress. Surely, it must be delight in the fact that his Death Eater hand could spoil the sanctity of the savior’s body with his touch. That all those do-gooder devotees that followed Potter around had never touched him, but that Draco had.

“What’s this, Draco?” Harry asked, head tilted, and eyebrows furrowed in the confusion that Draco was beginning to think was his natural state.

“A little consolation gift, if you will.”

“Huh?”

Draco was really beginning to think that he had overestimated Potter’s intelligence.

“It’s your outfit for the bet,” dunderhead, he added internally.

Harry examined the dainty package, obviously still perplexed.

“Er,” he coughed, “It’s rather small isn’t it?”

“Are you asking for more? That is a rather rude response to a gift, you know. But should I really be surprised that you’ve gotten so used to adulation that you’ve grown rather demanding? Size isn’t everything you know.” Draco waggled his eyebrows, daring Harry to read into his innuendo.

“I just meant that, it seemed rather small for something that I’m supposed to be wearing. I don’t know how much of me it’ll cover.” Harry averted his eyes, blushing.  
Perhaps that’s the point, Draco thought. This humiliation stuff was getting awfully hard when his victim was so obtuse. “Just go put it on and come out and show us all. And remember, you must wear this for the whole day.

When Harry came out Draco’s mind blanked. He had severely miscalculated his hand. All his power struggles were for naught. He stared, his mouth open (and if a bit of drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth it was only polite not to mention it. It was no one’s business but his own!). Of course, his own plan would come back to bite him in the bullocks! They all did: the dementor dress-up game, those wretched buttons, becoming the preeminent death eater by killing the greatest wizard of an age (his doddering and twinkling did tend to convince you he was a harmless old fool)—perhaps some had failed more spectacularly than others. Why did he forget that he was bad at plans? Oh why!

Harry stood before him abashed, his bare chest flushed with embarrassment. The outfit that Draco thought would be so humiliating—a tiny pair of black panties complete with stockings and a garter belt (just so they would stay up! Nothing to do with that picture in Playwizard™!) instead was just incredibly, surprisingly (but was it really that surprising?) sexy. How could he not have noticed that he was attracted to Harry? The tingling, warmth currently hardening in his pants certainly did. Of course, Harry would find a way to turn this around and gain the upper hand! Gah!

Unfortunately, at this very calm, not-at-all-freaking-out moment, Seamus bounded up, “Oy! Harry, give us a pose then.”

Then, as part of an evil plan to melt Draco’s brain, Harry complied. He sank to his knees, spread them apart, put one arm behind his head (which definitely didn’t emphasize his muscles! When did he get so fit?). His eyes briefly met Draco’s before looking away.

“Satisfied, Draco? Can I take it off now? It’s itchy.”

Oh no! He was a long way from satisfied. Perhaps if Harry would lean forward and mouth his cock through his trousers he’d be satisfied. Likely, not even then. It would definitely require a thorough examination of those assets attempting to burst their way out of those delicate silk panties. If he could but see Potter’s beautiful, exquisite backside in those, he’d likely cum in his pants right here. Realizing how long his silence had been, and how strategic retreat was the only option in the face of such formidable cunning, he turned swiftly on heel—with a grace that would definitely billow his robes in a manner that even Snape would envy… if only he had changed out of his Quidditch gear—and strode out of the room. 

After finding a mercifully empty alcove, he sank to the floor, and brought his hands to his face. At the touch of something wet, he gazed at his fingers and noted the blood there with contempt. How dare his nose betray him? Was a scantily clad Harry Potter really all it took to defeat him? But here was the proof. Harry had drawn first blood and won their skirmish. Draco sighed heavily, releasing with his breath, all the hopes of victory and the upperhand as well as his delusion that he hated Harry Potter.

At the sound of muffled, but heavy footfalls, Draco tensed and readied himself for company. His nonchalant mask slipped however when a still mostly-naked and barefoot Potter hurdled into view.

“Draco! Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Obviously not. Are you really running around the castle dressed like that? McGonagall is going to have kittens,” Draco hmphed, trying to regain his composure, “You should really cover up.”

If he couldn’t quite look at Harry, that was completely understandable considering how obscenely he was dressed. It was just offending to his delicate pureblood sensibilities. Draco sighed. Hadn’t he just decided to quit lying to himself? He couldn’t bring himself to look at Harry because it made him want things he knew he could never have. Harry wrapped around him in a passionate embrace, for one.  
Draco tentatively glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry was frowning, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

“Draco, what’s wrong? You ran out of there without saying anything. Did something happen?” Harry asked, sitting down next to Draco.

“It was nothing. I just remembered that I accidentally left my cauldron on and had to go check on it.” He may be able to admit the truth to himself, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to Potter.

“It’s the weekend, Draco.”

“Uh, yes. That’s why I was so alarmed. It’s probably melted by now.”

“Draco,” Harry sighed as he put his hand on Draco’s knee. Draco’s heart missed a beat and he forgot how to breathe.

“Since when do you call me Draco?”

“Since we became friends,” Harry peeped up out his lashes, as if assessing Draco’s response.

“We…we’re friends?” Draco stammered.

“Of course, Draco. That’s what it’s called when people like to hang out together.”

“But we fight all the time.” Draco’s head was reeling. Potter thought they were friends? They were hanging out together? Potter didn’t have nefarious intentions when he invited him out, he just was his friend? How had this happened without him noticing?

“Well yeah… but so did Hermione and Ron until they figured out that it was just unresolved sexual tension and snogged. N-Not that I’m saying that’s what’s going on between us! Not that I wouldn’t want to snog you! I mean… you’re obviously a very fit bloke. I’m just trying to say that friends—”

“Potter do shut up,” Draco commanded. After a pause, he added, “You think I’m fit?” 

Harry had re-crossed his arms over his chest and Draco was again reminded that he was very scantily clothed.

“Uh… I don’t not think you’re fit,” Harry dissembled.

Draco started to wonder if he had accidentally hit his head on his precipitous flight out of the common room and was actually bleeding out in some forsaken corner of the castle. Harry Potter was his friend. He apparently thought he was fit. And he was sitting beside him in a secluded corridor in sexy lingerie right out of Draco’s fantasies. Maybe it was time for one more plan… Or he should just forgo Slytherin cunning just this once and borrow some Gryffindor courage.

“Harry,” Draco tested out the word on his tongue, “I think we should test out Granger and Weasley’s patented method of resolving conflict.” He moved to face Harry and leaned forward slowly, with a predatory gleam in his eye. He stopped when he could feel Harry’s erratic breath on his face and see his eyes widen, the iris disappearing as the pupil blackened with lust.

“Do you concur?” Draco asked, running his hand down Harry’s arm with a featherlight touch. A trail of goosebumps followed his touch.

Harry’s breath ceased altogether for the longest, briefest moment and then his lips met Draco’s. At first it was just a caress of lips, searching out truth that words were inadequate to express. Then, Harry pulled Draco onto his lap. Their warm bodies pressed together, and Draco’s hands explored the copious amount of skin bared for him. Harry buried his hands in Draco’s hair, anchoring him to him like a ship moored to ride out a tumultuous storm. And a storm was brewing between them. They fed it with the warm air of their breath and an outpouring of emotion overflowing the banks of their carefully erected floodwalls. When they finally parted, gasping for air and foreheads resting together, Harry was the first to break the still silence.

“That was…”

“I know.”

“Wait. You never did explain why you ran off. You were rather effective in distracting me,” Harry bit his lip, and teasingly side-eyed Draco.  
Draco leaned forward to engage Harry in some more distraction, but Harry pulled away after a few moments of sensuous kisses.

“Nuh-uh. You’re not getting away with that! Tell me.” His eyes twinkled with amusement, and the corners of his lips twitched up in amusement.

“Hypothetically, I-may-have-gotten-an-erection-andanosebleedfromseeingyouinthatoutfit,” Draco mumbled.

“What was that?” Harry grinned.

“Nothing. And we’ll never say another word on the subject,” Draco reverted to his formal tones, “Let’s go find a more suitable place for resolving sexual tension.”

Harry grinned, “Gladly, but I’m not forgetting it.” He grabbed Draco’s hand, pulled him up, and proceeded to drag him to his room.


End file.
